One Step Forward
by Myriddin
Summary: Ten years since Sansa Stark has seen her ancestral home, Jon strives to convince her they can return together.


**One Step Forward**  
By Myriddin

"Lady Sansa, if I may have the honor of this dance?"

He turned his gaze to her and though her smile was polite and her expression cool and collected, her eyes were warm, holding emotions he had been longing for years to see again. "I'd be honored, my lord."

A hand pressed to hers, another at her waist, he whirled her out gracefully onto the dance floor, his body moving from memory in the steps of the familiar dance. Sansa said nothing as they danced, her eyes studying him. Jon wondered what it was she saw. War and winter had left their marks on him, leaving him scarred, battered and aged before his time. Compared to the fresh-faced young lordlings that had partnered with her earlier in the evening, he felt wholly inadequate.

His arm tightened around her waist with the turning of his thoughts, his eyes growing intensely serious. "I've missed you, Sansa."

He watched as the different emotions passed through her eyes; joy, trepidation, sadness, pain…he hated that he was the cause of it. He felt the grip of her hands tighten almost painfully, her fingers digging into the muscle of his arm. "Jon…you shouldn't say things like that."

He dipped his head both in a respectful acknowledgment and in an effort to hide his sheepish expression. "Forgive me, my lady. I should not have spoken so. I will not bring it up again."

His arms became stiff and unfamiliar around her and she found herself longing for the warm embraces of the past, "Oh, Jon," she whispered, her tone nearly too soft to be audible, "I've missed you as well."

She saw him tense; knowing he had heard her, but she did not dare raise her eyes to meet his. They finished the last steps in an uneasy silence, formality and propriety demanding no further display from them, but as the last notes of the music died away and the dancers turned to applaud the musicians, a strong arm wrapped around her waist once more, guiding her gently but firmly into the nearest empty corridor.

His mouth over hers stole her breath away, a hand cupping the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss. He kissed her deeply, passionately, desperately with a hunger she found herself matching, her hands clutching at his shoulders. She gripped tightly at the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer, desperate to feel his body against hers.

He made a soft sound of satisfaction in his throat, his arms wrapping around around her. They broke apart and she did not dare to open her eyes, lest it all be a dream. Leaning her hand against his shoulder, she warmly returned his embrace, wanting nothing more than to have him close.

Dazed from his kiss, his touch, the heat they made together, she sank into his arms, and said not a word. Instead, she found herself giving over to him, surrendering in a way she had only ever done to one person, and one person only. They shared again and again deep, heated kisses, her hand burying in his hair, the other slipping beneath the folds of his tunic, caressing over bare skin before flattening her palm just beneath his ribcage. His abdomen contracted beneath her touch and she shivered with sensual memory, remembered being belly to belly, body to body, feeling the way his muscles rippled and strained, moving above her, inside her.

"I have missed you, lovely girl," he whispered to her, feathering kisses down her throat, nuzzling against her soft skin. Her eyes fluttered closed, lips parting in breathless pleasure.

He angled his head up for another meeting of lips, groaning as her nails gently scratched against his scalp. The sound seemed to snap her out of her daze, for she pulled away from him, blinking several times as if to clear herself of their passions. She placed her hands over his when he reached for her again, gently pushing them away.

"Sansa?"

"Not here, Jon."

He clenched his jaw and rubbed a hand through his beard, self-consciously aware of the raised scars underneath. "Of course. I understand. It's been so long, why would you still want-"

He was cut off by Sansa moving closer once more, cupping his face in her hands to look up at him with a tenderness he had missed so desperately. "Jon Snow, you know better than that. My objection was the setting, not your touch."

He smiled, both sheepish and shy, but grew more solemn the longer he studied her lovely face. "Don't marry him, Sansa."

"Jon-"

"I mean it. You don't have to sacrifice yourself again. Rickon is nearly a man grown. The North has grown strong once more. You can come home."

A longing filled her beautiful eyes and Jon's heart ached as he thought of how long it had been since his love had been granted a choice. Used as a cyvasse piece in Littlefinger's machinations, she had been Lady of the Vale for nearly a year before Harry the Heir had fallen in battle. After, Sansa had used herself as the ultimate bargaining chip to turn the Dragon Queen's eyes away from the North. She had been the reward Daenerys offered to her Hand, and Tyrion Lannister gladly reclaimed his lost wife like she was prize to be won. Jon's sword hand had itched throughout the wedding, as he realized the years had rendered Tyrion's soul as bitter and ugly as his face.

Sansa spent five years married to the Imp before he was killed by an assassin's blade. Jon had restrained himself from rushing South when the news had reached Winterfell, prompted instead when Arya returned from her latest wandering and ordered him for hauntingly blank eyes to bring her sister home.

Jon pressed a kiss to Sansa's brow and sighed. "Say the word and I'll take you and the girls far from here. Back to Winterfell, across the Narrow Sea, wherever you desire." He thought of her daughters, pretty and clever as their mother, but just as mistreated. Jeyne and Joanna bore the names of their powerful fathers, but had been tossed aside simply for virtue of not being sons. "My lady wolf, they can't hide you amongst their roses anymore than they could disguise you as a lion."

Her lips curled into a soft smile and Jon knew it was Sansa Stark looking back at him. Not Arryn or Lannister- certainly not Tyrell. He leaned down to brush his lips against hers, sweet and lingering. "Please, lovely girl. I can't stand the thought of losing you again."

She took in a shuddering breath, the few tears she let fall glistening against her lashes. He leaned in to kiss them away.

"Take me home, Jon."


End file.
